


Auntie Anne's

by Chasethemorning



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Funny, One Shot, Teenagers, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:39:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9862943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chasethemorning/pseuds/Chasethemorning
Summary: Clint is asked to evaluate Wanda's progress when Natasha is busy during a lesson slot.One-shot, mostly to show my interpretation of their friendship and mentorship.





	

Wanda wandered restlessly. Training for the trip against Crossbones was fading her, and quickly. All the practice and painful concentration until her brain felt like an egg in a microwave. And then there were Natasha's lessons on fitting in, on spy strategy and communication. Her 17th birthday passed without her even realizing until she dreamt of past parties with her brother at her side that night. 

 

One thing did come of Natasha's lessons however. Cruising the mall she'd smelled something powerful. Yeasty. Salty. But sweet. And it completely overtook her. Not much experience with American cuisine still, she'd tried to describe it to Nat. Natasha didn't know what it was she was describing though.  Her stomach had started to gurgle as they grew closer to the source and she saw it. The Pretzel stand. 

 

Natasha had teased her about how quickly she devoured it, then went for another. The tummy ache was worth the taste of a salty, cinnamon sugary coated starch overdose though. And the lemonade! Oh, the lemonade!

 

She expected to meet Natasha at the car per usual that night but was surprised when it wasn't the usual vehicle she'd wait for. She blinked twice as a family suv pulled up beside her, the window rolling down to reveal Clint. Wanda looked confused.

 

"Hey, kid. You getting in?" He asked after a moment. 

 

"Uh, yea, sure," she said, her dialect more Americanized, and she slid into the passenger's seat and sat down her pursey backpack thing. Nat had said it was less obvious than her previous bag. But it was a backpack style so it reminded her of her ruck sack. "Where's Natasha?" She inquired.

 

"Buckle up," he stated, watching her until her seatbelt clicked. She already looked more like an American teenager now, even if a misguided one. "She had an assignment pop up. Asked me to cover you for the evening. Sort of like an assessment to see how you've progressed, no stress," he said, staring at the road as he drove. "So, for the evening, I'm Uncle Clint."

 

Wanda tilted her head, pursing her lips a moment. "Right. No stress..." she sort of grumbled, blowing a piece of hair from her face. She gave a heavy sigh. "So no lessons tonight? I guess that's good. I got put through the ringer in training today," plus she had cramps and a migraine and a psychic headache on top of it.

 

"Oh yea, they being tough on you, kid?" He asked, glancing over. So far so good as he evaluated her attire and posture. She was slouchier than she used to be, at least appearing more relaxed. Her accent was nearly gone, her make up more like something from Cosmo instead of what it once was. And she'd traded her dress and leather jacket for some destructed skinny jeans and a shirt under a hooded jacket. Maybe the ball cap was a bit overboard, and her shoe choice could use some work... maybe he'd get her a new pair tonight, or at least help her pick some out.

 

"Yea. I need a break. My head is killing me," she said softly. "At least on the telekinetic and psionic energy front. The other I can do. But the precision training... it's a headache that's even outside my head and throbs over my whole body," she shuddered. "Can I roll down the window?" 

 

Clint looked over. "Feeling sick?" He asked.

 

She shook her head no. "I like how the air feels in my hair," she admitted sheepishly, sinking down a bit more.

 

Normally he'd say no and give a lecture about how things weren't safe, but instead he rolled the window down half way for her. He watched her smile and sit up straighter.  She was just a kid after all. 

 

After a new pair of converse were acquired, he walked the mall with her, slightly behind her,  judging her movements and the way she spoke when approached. A few boys her age tried to talk to her and he quickly asserted himself. It was impulse. She was just a kid and seemed to shy away from them and he wanted to save her in a way from their distraction potential. 

 

"Uncle Clint..." she blinked up after a few moments of window shopping and practicing visual cues and commands with hands. She excelled at discreet sign language. He wondered if she knew ASL, maybe they'd be able to carry on private conversation using his deafness as an excuse. He could guide her. 

 

"Hmm?" he responded, signaling for her to approach the rack to the left and down three. 

 

Flawlessly she followed the order.  She pretended to be interested in a pair of jeans until he caught up. "Can we get Auntie Annes before we leave?"

 

He furrowed his brows, tilting his head slightly,  caught off guard. Pretzels? He could buy a whole box of 48 from the wholesale store for the price of two at the mall stand. He wondered if she knew that she could get them in bulk like that.  Of course not. She was just a kid, after all. "Sure, kiddo," he answered. He signaled that it was time to leave the store.

 

She fell in step beside him and they left the store.  The smell of the pretzels was overpowering. As she spotted the blue and white kiosk, she hopped up and down, clapping excitedly and rushed over. After making a 4 pretzel order, she turned and asked him if he wanted anything. He shook his head looking shocked. They sat at a table and she inhaled the pretzels, eating all but a half, looking miserable and pained at it. "Will you eat it so it doesn't go to waste? Pleeeeaaaase?" She begged. 

 

Clint grudgingly ate the pretzel. He helped her out of the car when they returned to base, sleeping off her carb overload, and then to her room. Natasha was waiting in the common area of the compound, so he went to brief her.

 

"Well, she follows hand signals flawlessly. She's ready to move on to earbud communication," he said, shifting onto the balls of his feet.

 

"And..." Nat asked, raising a brow.

 

"She acted and looked and sounded like a normal American teenager... until we got to Auntie Annes..." he raised his brows.

 

"Damnit. The pretzels again?" Nat sighed, hand hitting her thigh. 

 

"Yea. She ate three in two minutes." He shook his head and laughed. "luckily I don't think there'll be a stand where we're headed." He smirked.

 

Nat nodded and smirked back. "Likely not. Thanks for the help," she said gently.

 

"Oh. And. So. I don't know if she told you but she's got this psychic headache thing... I think she could use a day off or a morning to sleep in or something." Clint watched her reaction.

 

"Noted, I'll try," she said before heading off toward her room with a smile. "Later, Barton."


End file.
